May We Meet Again
by racheltuckerrr
Summary: He is leaving her behind again. She is having nightmares again. Aka these Idiots get it together, finally. Kabby. (Posted on AO3 a while back, sorry if you've read it already.)


_AN: This is something I wrote and posted on AO3 a while ago, I don't know why I didn't post it here. Anyways, enjoooooy._

 _###_

It's happening again. She feels like the ground is slipping out from under her feet, her world crumbling down around her while she can only stand by idly, to watch it play it. She knows this story by heart, hates every single line of it, and it's always the same too, painfully and excruciatingly the same, and there is nothing she can do to stop it – by now she knows that there never really was.

That doesn't mean though, that the pain feels any less sharp, that it doesn't burn with the intensity of a thousand fires, like it isn't piercing through her heart with it's metal blade, cruel and unrelenting, so long as her heart's still beating in her chest. No, she still feels it all, _everything_ , just like she did that day.

Memories may fade over time, dulling her senses and drowning her emotions, like lowering the volume on the radio, until it's nothing more than a comfortable background noise at the bottom of the sea in your whirling mind – which makes remembering more akin to looking at old, faded pictures rather than experiencing everything all over again.

But dreams have a funny way of taking you back in time to a place where everything is so vividly alive that you don't even question if it's real anymore. Even though you know it's not.

Marcus couldn't sleep. Not that that was unusual, he was a hopeless insomniac, especially when something was troubling him. Usually he'd go out into the night and walk it off somewhere, his late night endeavours have led him to the unlikeliest of places, prompting him to make new discoveries in the dead of night. He often found himself sitting by the lake overlooking their camp, as if standing guard over their people even as they were all sleeping soundly while _he_ couldn't. Or laying in the clearing, counting the stars as they came out and then when they disappeared again, trying to imagine that they were sheep, just like his mother used to tell him, saying it would help with his insomnia, but it never did. He was a man, who could live on very little sleep, and it suited him fine, he used to be content with the darkness as his only companion.

Lately though, none of these things satisfied him anymore. Whenever he found a new place to quiet his racing mind, sooner or later he felt the growing need inside to have _her_ there with him, to show her every new experience, every new place he has stumbled upon. This sudden urge to share with another person was still new to him, and he didn't know what to do with it. Or himself, for that matter. He looked up at the sky, and it was like even the stars were mocking him, painting her face on the canvas of the night, only for him to see.

Something was changing between them, of course he has noticed, he wasn't blind after all. Although sometimes he did wonder if it was all in his head, if maybe there _was_ something in the air down here that made everyone lose themselves. He decided that if he was truly lost, all he'd want as a map was her face and he would find his way back home, no matter what.

And he _was_ actually leaving in less than two days. She called it a suicide mission, he called it a necessity. In truth, it was a supply run, more or less, one they were in dire need of. It would require more time and patience on both sides than ever before, as his destination was the furthest they've ever gone yet.

Which is exactly why it had taken him weeks to convince her that there was just no other way, he had to go. It was at least a month's journey, maybe even more until he can make it back to camp, and back to her. That was probably the main reason for her protestations, as he had never left her behind for such a long period of time before. Not that he had any doubts about her capabilities of handling not just herself, but their people as well. He had absolute faith in her, another thing that shows just how much they've rubbed off on each other.

Oh, things were definitely changing, but not everything. It was never a habit of hers to agree with him, especially when it came to his safety. That was clue number one. She worried so much, always has, but he was having trouble grasping the concept that the ever growing list of things that caused her apprehension now included him too.

At least, he was almost entirely certain that he had read her right. Doubt was a frequent companion and he still gave into it sometimes, but deep down he knew. They probably both have known for some time now, which only made it harder to break the silence and actually do something about it.

He sighed, looking up at the sky one more time – the blackness of the night already giving way to the new day, although there was still about an hour or two until dawn, – squinting at the glowing dots on the sky, connecting them in his mind to form the perfect picture, and finally made his decision.

He would come back to her, and then maybe they could be something. If that is indeed what she wants.

###

She wants none of this, she didn't ask for it, not now not ever, and yet here she was. Nightmares about her husband's execution still plagued her nights from time to time and it never got any easier. But they have been less frequent down on Earth and she was hoping that maybe, just maybe they would stop, now that she was finally safely on the ground where she belonged, at her daughter's side – the only person she had left, ever since Jake's death.

Jake. Her husband, whose ring is still on her finger, his on a chain she wears around her neck still, not a day has gone by that she had been without it and would not take it off for anything. Jake. The father of her daughter, the man she decided to marry despite their young age and inexperience and all the uncertainty that was life on the Ark at the time, that man, Jake, – the man whose face she keeps seeing as he looks at her one last time before going into certain death, all because of her.

She wants to wake up so bad, but her body is paralyzed, just like always, the invisible hands of guilt and remorse holding her down, binding her hands to her sides, making her unable to move or make a sound, when all she wants to do is scream for it to stop. She would do anything to make it stop. To make _him_ stop, but she couldn't do it then, and she can't do it now, and that is what she has to live with every day.

(That, and her daughter resenting her for her father's death. She doesn't blame her. It hurts like hell, and she wishes more than anything that she could make Clarke understand, but in the end she just has to accept that too.)

She is technically still asleep, but she can feel the hot tears burning searing streams down her cheeks, and this might just be the worst one yet. Her body is twisting and thrashing around, gasping for a liberating breath that never comes. She doesn't even see anything anymore, just his face, always his face, looking at her in those final moments before the light in his eyes will go out permanently and forever, his cheeky smile never to be seen again. The flicker of fear she sees passing through his features just then makes her want to claw her eyes out.

And then something happens, something else entirely. She doesn't understand it at first, doesn't recognize it for what it is, the cruelest of tricks that the fates have apparently decided to play on her, because this is all new, this has never happened before.

She watches in fascination as the face of the man in front of her starts changing slightly, first only at the edges, as if he is grimacing, his face distorted in an expression she has never seen on him before, and then all at once. And one more second later the man before her no longer resembles her husband at all.

And just like that, her blood turns to ice in her veins with the changing of his features and she feels her insides weighing her down even more than they had before, like a marble statue rooted to the ground, she stands there, helplessly, thinking that this is it, she has finally found hell, right here on Earth, inside her own mind.

She can do nothing but stare at him, eyes boring into his soul and she wonders for a brief second if he ever has nightmares about her. She doubts that he does because after all, out of the two of them, it isn't her who keeps insisting that somehow the value of her life isn't worth as much as everyone else's.

She almost smiles, forgetting herself for a moment, because it's him, looking at her like he always does and that somehow always manages to take her mind off of everything else that is wrong in her life, when nothing is left but him, – but then the nightmare continues on, exactly where it had left off, only now he's the one who's about to die in front of her, and somehow this is her fault all over again, and there is absolutely nothing she can do to make it stop.

The intensity of her grief hits her with full force. No, no, no, she thinks, this can't be happening, she can't go through that again, please, no. Not so soon. Not Marcus. _Please_.

She is howling with everything that she is, her mouth opening and closing in agony, but no sound ever comes out and she has never felt this useless in her life. She is frozen in place, yet again, when all she wants to do is grab onto him, any part of him she can reach, cling to his body like a lifeline and never let go, never let _him_ go. Because if she does, she knows she'll never see him again. Just like Jake.

###

He is on his way back to his tent, as it was getting a little too cold to lounge around under the open sky and Abby would have his head if he even thought about going away on a mission after catching a cold. So he thinks better of it, shaking his head and making his way back to the camp, and in the direction of his makeshift home.

He moves like a ghost between the sleeping tents, as his long legs carry him along the familiar path with a practiced ease, and before he even knows it, he's comes to a stop in front of her tent. He shakes his head at himself and turns, just about to find his _actual tent_ , andthat's when he hears it.

At first he thinks he's imagining things, but then another quiet sob tears through the silence of the night, followed by a whimper and – no, that can't be right. But it is… she's crying out _his name_ and while his mind comes up with more than enough scenarios before he can stop himself where that wouldn't be such a bad thing… this is not one of them. He acts on instinct, barging into her tent without a second thought of whether or not he's even wanted, but then stops himself in the doorway, feeling like he is intruding on her privacy.

But then she looks up at him, her big brown eyes latching onto his, desperately seeking some kind of comfort, and whatever excuse he had dies on his lips at the sight of her. She looks like hell – hair mussed, limbs tangled in sheets, her body twisted in the strangest of angles, and it's clear that she just had a terrible nightmare. He knows the signs, recognizes them immediately, as they are a frequent visitor in his bed.

He instinctively moves closer to her, but then stop himself, yet again. She is probably in a kind of shock if not still half asleep and he wouldn't want to take advantage – so he just stands there, looking like someone who knows he shouldn't be there, but doesn't quite want to be anywhere else either.

She finally regains some semblance of control over herself, rubbing her eyes and then her temples to keep herself grounded in the moment, and then finally breaks the silence that's been stretching out between them like an ocean of uncertainty.

"Marcus?" It's more of a plea than anything else, but it's enough to make him understand.

"I –" He stumbles over his words, then finally whispers, "Do you want me to go?"

The question is simple enough, and while it somehow means more than it's supposed to, neither of them realizes that just yet.

"No." Her answer is immediate and she's whispering too, her voice dying almost before the sound of it reaches his ears, "Stay."

It's all he needs. He crosses the space between them in an instant, settling himself behind her so that he can take her into his arms properly.

"What are you doing?" She tries to protest, but it's half-hearted, and they both know it. He answers her anyway. "Staying."

"But I don't –" She's not even sure what she wants to say, but he cuts her off before she has a chance to come up with something they both know she doesn't mean.

"Yes you do, Abby." He says tenderly, as one of his hands finds its way into her hair, softly caressing it as he speaks, in an attempt to calm her racing thoughts. "Everyone needs _someone_."

He gives her a look that tells her she should probably listen to what he's trying to say, "Even the people like us –" He trails off, looking at her hands in her lap, but then his eyes find hers again and he murmurs softly, "Maybe especially the people like us."

Her first instinct is to snort at that, but she doesn't, she keeps quiet, seeming to consider everything he just said. And apparently he's won, because without warning, she turns her whole body into his, burrowing deeper into him and burying her face in his chest, inhaling his scent, hands gripping onto his jacket tightly, as if he is the last thing keeping her tethered to this world.

She chastises herself for being so reckless with her emotions, giving into her desires because of a momentary lapse in judgment, but it's silenced immediately as she feels his other hand softly skimming her sides, and she needs to focus all her will power on keeping her breathing steady even as her heart seems to beat out of her chest. Had it been any other day she would not allow herself such an indulgence, but fragments of her nightmare still linger, and that only makes her tighten her grip on the man currently occupying her every thought, as well as her living _and_ personal space. As for Marcus, he just holds her tight, relishing the moment because it's all he's wanted to do for weeks now.

Her curiosity finally gets the better of her, and she murmurs absent-mindedly, "So since when did you take it upon yourself to be my _someone_?"

The question catches him off guard and he doesn't know how to answer it without giving himself away entirely. But he knows her better than to think he could get away with it.

"Marcus?" She turns to look at his face, eyebrow raised in question as she waits for his answer.

"Probably longer than you think." Her eyes widen at his confession, but she doesn't back down, if anything, it only fuels her interest.

"But why now?"

"Does it really matter?" She rolls her eyes at him, "Would tomorrow be better for you, dear?" He meant it as a joke, but something in her eyes flashes dangerously, and he thinks he might just understand what's going on here.

"Probably not, considering you won't even be here." She huffs, turning away from him, but he stops her by catching her wrist gently in his, turning her back to him.

"Is that what this is about?" He smoothes some hair out of her face, so he can look at her properly. She shifts her gaze, still not quite sure how to handle all of this attention from him.

"No. I don't know. Maybe." His gaze softens as he listens to her stumble over her words, and in truth, he finds it quite endearing.

"I'll come back, you know."

"Actually, you don't know that, Marcus."

He doesn't have an answer for that one, so they stay quiet for a while.

She shivers, and it reminds him of the state he found her in, and she must be so exhausted. He looks down at her in wonder, her eyes still red and puffy from what he suspects is a souvenir from her nightmare, eyelids heavy, and yet she keeps fighting sleep, burrowing deeper into his arms and into him. He tightens his hold on her, bringing her impossibly closer. She has never let her guard down like this with him before. It would have been unimaginable for both of them. But now… now it comes almost naturally.

He doesn't know what's been troubling her so much that it could bring her this kind of pain, and he doesn't ask. All he knows is that he wants to make it disappear.

"Does that mean that you don't feel the same way?"

He means for it to be a joke, an easy, light-hearted thing, but a second after the question is out of his mouth, he realizes that he's dead serious. And that he needs an answer from her.

"Marcus, –" She seems taken aback, and he's not surprised. Weeks, months even, have been building up to this moment, but it still catches them both off guard, and he just knows that her first instinct is to run. But he needs her to stay.

"Just answer the question, please, Abby." And the pleading tone in his voice is enough to do her in, just like that.

"Of course, I feel the same way." She sighs, "But I still can't do this right now."

"Why?" He tries desperately to hide the disappointment in his voice, and fails.

"Why do you think?" She turns in his arms so she can look directly at him, eyes searching his, asking him to understand, but in the end it is her who gives in.

"History clearly suggests that the men in my life have no knack for self-preservation, and it's always me who ends up paying the price for that." She was hoping that this would be enough, but the look on his face tells her that he didn't get her message, so she takes a deep breath before blurting out, "Marcus, I just can't let whatever is happening between us right now happen, and then watch you go away some place you might never come back from." She adds in a faint whisper, "Not again."

He closes his eyes as it finally dawns on him. Of course. Jake. He should've known. He still doesn't know exactly what her nightmare was about, but he doesn't need to. He can fill in the blanks.

She holds herself so high that sometimes he forgets how much she's been through. That she's not invincible, even though she likes to pretend she is. And yet, she seems so incredibly small in his arms, her body completely enveloped by his, as if he is protecting a child from all the monsters under her bed. And in a sense, he is. And he feels honored to do so.

So he lies down on his back, bringing her body with him so she can rest her head on his chest, and pulls a blanket over the both of them. He doesn't make her any promises, but tells her about his day instead. Anything and everything he can think of. And after a while he more feels than hears her breathing even out, as she has finally fallen into what he desperately hopes is a peaceful, dreamless slumber. He keeps stroking her hair, just because he can, and also because it is still hard for him to grasp the concept that he is actually holding a sleeping Abby Griffin in his arms, not to mention the fact that she is there willingly. He grins at that, almost glad that she isn't awake to witness it, as she would probably smack him.

He shakes his head and places a kiss on her forehead, before whispering conspiratorially, "I said I wouldn't promise you anything, Abby, and I won't, but that doesn't change the fact that I _am_ coming back to you. Not because of my word, simply because I will not stand for never seeing your face again. So, I'm doing this for me, too."

###

And when he does return, barging straight into medical without even a semblance of consideration for anyone in his search for her, she is nowhere to be found.

When he does finally find her, she's picking herbs in the very same clearing he had told her about. Usually he would take the time to admire her from afar, taking advantage of the fact that she doesn't yet know he's watching, but today is not one of those days.

She was the only thing on his mind for days now, ever since their mission has been completed and there was nothing left for him to do, but get back to her. It seems utterly ridiculous, this urgency that's bubbling up inside him at the sight of her, – he hasn't seen her for over two months and he's survived, but now all his self-control is leaving him at once, and he absolutely cannot wait another minute.

Everything happens so fast and she yelps as she suddenly feels her back hitting the rough bark of a tree, the result of him lifting her up into his arms, and then he's kissing her with everything that he's got.

She feels dizzy and her head is spinning, because _he is here_ , after two months of no word, no nothing from him, he is now standing between her legs, pressing her into a tree and shoving his tongue down her throat and this is ridiculous… _ly amazing_ , and it's unlike anything she's ever experienced, so she kisses him back with a passion that equals his own. And then some.

She locks her legs around his waist to secure herself, and god, she is way too old for this, but she doesn't give a damn as she hears the moan that escapes his lips, his reaction to her gripping his hair, trying to steady herself and ultimately keeping them from falling over. She fails miserably though, as she registers Marcus pulling her onto his chest, undoubtedly to soften her fall as they both topple over and she lands right on top of him, their faces mere inches apart.

She launches herself at him then, attacking his mouth with her lips and he barely has any time to catch his breath between her demanding kisses, then feels her mouth move lower, traveling from his neck to his collarbone and then back, finally arriving to whisper a barely-there "Hi" in his ear, and he thinks she might just kill him. But what a way to go.

He kisses her nose and then grins at her, all teeth and not a shadow of a doubt or worry clouding his face, which makes her smile at him in turn, the brightest smile he has ever seen on her face yet. And that's when he really feels like he's home.

When they return to camp almost three hours later, hand in hand and faces flushed to a point that leaves absolutely no doubt about what they've been up to, no one dares say a thing.

###


End file.
